


Indubitably

by Ellajane2255



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: 1860s, Class Differences, F/M, Historical AU - Victorian Era, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Secret Santa!, There WILL be fluff AND partial angst, buckle up buttercup, child abuse mention, maid!Lucy, rich merchant!Lockwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellajane2255/pseuds/Ellajane2255
Summary: For the Lockwood & Co. Discord server Secret Santa! Nick, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!‘Those who choose to be servants know the most about being free’ - Janette Oke(DISCLAIMER - I don’t own Lockwood & Co.)





	Indubitably

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is obviously dedicated to Nick, for the 2018 Secret Santa! I had to do some SERIOUS snooping to find out if you shipped Locklyle, my dude, and I was extremely happy when I found out you did! Please enjoy!

There was a loud clang as someone rang the bell beside the front door. 

Lucy placed down her knife and the carrot she had been peeling, wiping her hands on her white apron then hurrying out of the kitchen and down the hall. She opened the door, and curtsied. “Mrs Addington, good morning” 

A plump, older woman looked Lucy up and down disapprovingly, taking in the maids dark, modest dress, plain boots, and sensible hair, before turning her nose up. “This is the residence of Mr Anthony Lockwood?”, she asked in a nasally, high voice. 

“Yes, Ma’am” 

“My daughter, Adela, and I are here to see him” 

She stepped to the side, crinoline and taffeta skirts rustling, to reveal a tall, slender woman. Her skin was pale, perfectly unblemished, with high, elegant cheekbones and a slender nose. Her eyes were piercing, a strange malachite green, gazing out at Lucy beneath painted, hooded eyelids. 

Her fashionable pastel dress was clearly expensive, low cut at the collar to expose an expanse of creamy collarbone, broken only by a large emerald set into a silver setting that hung between the tops of her breasts. Her dark hair was curled and pulled back beneath a bonnet, and she quirked a single black eyebrow at the girl. 

Lucy stared at her for a moment, before stepping clear of the doorway. “Please, come in” 

She helped the two women remove their coats and bonnets, and guided them into the parlour - a comfortable but fashionable room, with pale wallpaper showcasing exotic birds and flowers, highbacked sofas and armchairs in a French style in front of a marble fireplace with a large gold mirror hanging above it - and seated them in front of the fire. 

“You, girl, you may leave us”, Mrs Addington dismissed her with a waft of a gloved hand, and Lucy curtsied once again, and hurried out of the room. She dashed up the marble stairs to her masters study and knocked, waiting respectfully until she got a response. 

“Come in” 

She opened the door, and stepped inside. “Mrs and Ms Addington are here to see you, Sir” 

Mr Lockwood’s fountain pen paused momentarily above the accounts he was writing. “... and Ms Addington?” 

“Yes, Sir” 

He sighed, and placed down the pen. “Thankyou, Lucy. I’ll be down in a moment” 

“Would... you rather I saw them out, Sir?”, she asked, hands folded neatly in front of her. 

The merchant was silent for a moment. Then; “no, thankyou, Lucy. I had best at least greet them before throwing them back into the street” 

The maid bowed her head respectfully, and stepped away from the door. Her master rose from his seat and walked out the door, closing the door behind him with a quiet ‘click’. 

“Fetch us some tea, please, Lucy. But not the Chinese or Indian stuff. That’s expensive”. “Yes, Sir” 

Mr Lockwood took the marble stairs, dark curls of hair bobbing slightly as he moved. Lucy watched him for a moment, before turning and hurrying over to a small panel in the wall; she pulled it aside, stepped inside, and closed it after her. 

The servants stairs were dark and narrow, rather claustrophobic, with a thin wooden banister being the only thing to prevent her from missing a step and tumbling to her death floors below. 

Lucy pushed away the thought, instead focusing on the ever-expanding list of tasks she was yet to complete. She had to collect the ironing and fresh laundry from the laundress, polish the silverware, polish Mr Lockwood’s boots, sweep the front steps of the house... the list seemed to go on and on. 

But having too much work was better than having no work. Infinitely better. She’d rather been working from sunrise to sunset than be on the streets - as she very nearly had been, had it not been for Mr Lockwood’s charity, and the stern insistence of his cook, Mrs Bonnard. 

It didn’t matter how much time Lucy spent around the highest of London society, her voice always retained a certain amount of its Northern twang; she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life there, so of course that was to be expected. 

It had been under less than... conventional standards that the maid had gained her independence. Her mother had arranged her a marriage with a man in the next village over, twice Lucys’ age. Of course, she had rejected the match, and incurred her mother’s fury. 

The next day, with bruises as black as the gown she wore today, Lucy had collected the small amount of money she had saved over the years, climbed onboard a stagecoach with a single travelling bag, and didn’t look back. They rattled down to London, her teeth chattering both with the cold and the constant rattle of the wheels, and as the girl stepped down from the carriage, she was meant with a sense of independence she’d never felt before. 

But it wasn’t meant to last; her money was running pitifully low, and no matter how much she squandered and refused to save, it wasn’t quite enough to keep the wolf from scratching at her door. 

Desperate, she went as far as to consider becoming a prostitute, and sell herself on the docks with other desperate women, supporting themselves and often their children. But it hadn’t come to that, thankfully - in the midst of a torrential downpour, she’d sought cover in a greengrocers. There, on the window, a notice; ‘MAID WANTED’. Below, an address was listed, and a deadline. 

And so she’d applied, walking up the stone steps to the neatly varnished door of 35 Portland Row. And in what Lucy could only assume to be a fit of heavenly kindness and mercy, Mrs Bonnard had taken mercy on her - and hired her. 

She’d been hastily trained in her duties as a maid, most of which she had previously carried out at home. And here she was. 

The maid pushed the kitchen door open, stepping into the warm, humid room, making for the metal tea kettle on the stove. She filled it, and lit the hob beneath it, setting out the tea service as she waited for the water to boil. 

She brewed it, and placed the cups on a silver tray, hurrying as quickly as she could without spilling anything towards the parlour. 

“... be invited, of course, Mr Lockwood” 

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs Addington”, her master voice was firm but polite, “but I’m afraid I may be away on that date” 

“Tea, Sir”, Lucy said softly, standing in the doorway. He turned, smiling as he saw her. “Ah! Lucy, perfect timing”

She smiled back shyly, placing the tea tray down on the small table beside his armchair. She handed Mrs Addington her teacup, and didn’t even receive a glance of acknowledgement from the foul woman. Ms Addington stared at her derisively, snatching the cup off her. Mr Lockwood smiled kindly as he took his cup, thanking her quietly and dismissing her. She curtsied, and hurried back to the kitchen with the tray. 

The merchant took a sip of his tea, watching her leave, then placed the teacup down. “As I was saying, Mrs Addington, I’m very sorry, but unfortunately I don't believe I will be available to attend your ball” 

The woman sighed dramatically. “We understand, Mr Lockwood, you’re a busy man, what will all your successful business enterprises, we understand that you don’t have time for us poor, poor women” 

He suppressed a sigh as Mrs Addington continued lamenting; “and Adela had her heart set on dancing with you... didn’t you, Adela?” 

The young woman, ensconced in a high-backed armchair, turned her cool gaze on Mr Lockwood. “Oh, yes”, she said, her voice as soft as silk, “I would be simply heartbroken if you denied me“

He swallowed dryly. “Yes, that’s- very unfortunate. My apologies, Ms Addington, I- I’m sure you will be able to find another... companion” 

Her crystal blue eyes pierced him, and he took a sip of tea. 

“Yes... I suppose I will have to”, she purred.

“I shall leave you an invitation, regardless, Mr Lockwood”, the older women reached a gloved hand into her heavily embroidered reticule, and drew out a slip of paper, placing down on the table with a flourish. He looked at it, then back up at her as she clipped it shut, and stood. 

“We shall take our leave now, Mr Lockwood. Good afternoon. Come, Adela”, she bustled out of the parlour and into the hallway. The young woman gazed at him for a moment more, before standing, and seeming to glide out of the room. Lockwood shuddered. Lucy helped the older woman into her shawl, and handed her her expensive-looking bonnet. Adela watched her like a hawk watches a mouse, the maid completely unaware. “Ms Addington?”, she held her fashionable shawl up, and after a moment the young woman allowed her to draw it around her slender shoulders, and hand her her hat too. 

She opened the door, bidding them goodbye as they went down the steps and down into the street. Lucy watched the go, before returning to her master in the parlour. 

The merchant was still in his chair, head resting on one fist, eyes closed. “Sir”, Lucy said quietly. His eyes opened. “Oh, Lucy, apologies”, he sat up, “I can feel a migraine coming on...” 

“Should I fetch you some painkillers, Sir?” 

He sighed, adjusting his sitting position. “Please, Lucy” 

She bowed her head, walking to the pantry. The girl returned a moment later with a glass of water mixed with a small dose of laudanum. Her master thanked her, taking several small sips before placing it down on the table and closing his eyes. 

“Should... I leave you, Sir?” 

He didn’t reply, head resting against his hand; he was already stressed, what with all the imports he needed to organise, his ships scattered across the seas to every far flung corner of the earth, the constantly fluctuating value of different materials. 

Not only that, but the constant barrage of young women and their mothers practically throwing themselves at him, grasping desperately at his bachelorhood. The constant strain was starting to take a noticeable toll. 

But how was he supposed to avoid being dragged along to that frightful ball, and herded into the arms of that utterly... serpentine Ms Addington? 

There were very few things that would keep unmarried, fortune-seeking women from rich bachelors, those being... well... other woman. 

But he didn’t know any other women! He knew Mrs Bonnard, his cook, Holly, his typist, and Lucy, his maid, and he could exactly take any of them to a ball! They were all too low in society, according to his peers, that turning up with one of them on his arm to a ball would be... 

Would be... 

... social suicide. 

Social suicide; no more women begging for his hand in marriage, no more invites to stuffy dinner parties and balls, no more pomp and pageantry...

Perfect! 

It was perfect! 

His eyes snapped open. 

“Lucy! Go to the ball with me!” 

She blinked. “I’m... sorry, Sir?” 

“Lucy, please, would you come to the Addingtons ball with me?!”, he stood, grasping her hands. She gazed up at him, shocked. 

“What-... Sir, I-“ 

“I’ll get you whatever you need, Lucy! Dresses, shoes, hats, jewellery, whatever it is you require! Whatever it is you desire!” 

The girl looked at him as though he’d suddenly grown a second head; “Sir, really, that’s- completely improper!”, she exclaimed, blushing red. 

“That’s the point, Lucy!”, he grinned, clutching her shoulders, “don’t you see?! No woman will come near me if I go to the ball with you-! No offence intended, of course, you’re a wonderful, beautiful girl-“. He began to ramble. 

“Sir”, Lucy began, only to be ignored, then slightly louder each time, “Sir... Sir... Sir... SIR!” 

He turned. “Sorry, Lucy, did you say something?” 

“Yes, Sir”, the maid took a deep breath, “if you... really wish for me to accompany you to the Addingtons ball... I would be more than happy to, but... are you sure you really wish to... exorcise yourself from society?” 

“Yes”, he replied immediately, “Yes, Lucy, I’m sure. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life”

“Then... of course, Sir!” 

Mr Lockwood turned the full force of his grin on her, and Lucy offered him a shy, flushed smile in return. 

“Then you must call me ‘Anthony’, Lucy” 

“Yes... Anthony”


End file.
